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Wednesday, 28 November 2018

Another uncreditable picture again for this week's prompt. This one really is all over the net, with pages and pages of locations. Such a shame. I would love to know who created it.

I seem to be in a dark mode of writing at the moment. Again I chose to think about of the box with this one, and came up with something a bit different, and it was further added to after a conversation with a friend about an article I'd read about someone on a raw meat only diet. You can find inspiration in everything.

Standing on top of the hill, Dan took in the breathtaking
full moon. It was larger than he’d seen before, but he couldn’t decide if that
was due to the perspective, being up high rather than looking out of the window
of his small apartment.

He leaned on the spade and breathed in the night air,
listening to nocturnal wildlife in the woods around him. He felt alive and
energised, the adrenaline having flushed his system at this late hour. He loved
how stark the trees were against the moonlit sky, showing their bones and core
majesty. Not many living things could match such a display.

Humans became indistinguishable when they were just a pile
of bones. Only a honed eye could even know their gender. Did trees have
genders? He wondered if they felt him dig around them. He wondered if he cut
across any threads of their roots. He hoped not. They didn’t deserve to be cut
down, or to suffer in any way. They gave so much to humans: food, shelter, even
the air they breathed. It was scandalous how easily dismissed they were; how
easily cut down and replaced. But it was the human way with every living thing
on this planet. Anything that had a life force had to be controlled, and
managed, and bred to suit a purpose. It made Dan sick.

Rage fuelled his return to digging. He wanted to make sure
he buried them deep. Loads of people walked their dogs over the heath. They
were only bones, but they were bones that could be ID’d. They were clean though;
he’d stripped and boiled them.

People didn’t understand how difficult it was living how he
did, seeing things the way he did. He’d learnt to keep his mouth shut and his
head down. And more recently he’d found an outlet for his frustration as well
as the answer to a food problem.

For years now he’d only been able to eat raw meat. His body
had rejected all other food – especially when he’d tried going vegan. He hated
slaughtering innocent animals. It went against everything he believed. He didn’t
have the same compassion for humans though. Not on the whole. There were good
people, but there were also not so good people; people that would take every
last piece of you without feeling a second of guilt. He had too many of those
people in his life, so it made it easier.

The first time he’d done it, he’d been wracked with guilt
and paranoia. He’d cut up the meat into small pieces and stored it in the
freezer as quickly as possible. He’d trained as a butcher since his raw meat diet
and that served him well. He wanted to leave as little trace as possible.

The bones had been large and difficult to handle, unlike
animal bones. He’d sawn and broken then down, but it was hard to find a
container large enough to boil them in altogether. He’d had to do several pot
loads. It had made him twitchy, worried that someone would come round and find
him in the middle of it.

But by the third time it had become automatic. He’d also
made sure it was always late night; less chance of interruption. Plus he realised
that most of his friends and neighbours knew that he slaughtered and prepared his
own animals, so blood, bones and pieces of meat in his apartment was no big
deal. He relaxed. He still had to think about alibis, who he’d pick and plan it,
but generally it became easier and he felt he was servicing others too by
getting rid of these people.

He sometimes wished he could get access to an incinerator to
burn the bones, but knew that was too risky. It wasn’t that simple either, he
knew they’d need to be crushed after being burnt. The entire process took too
long and was too suspicious on a regular basis, so burying was the only option.
He’d grown creative with his locations. He tended to save up the bones and then
drive to somewhere new. It made the chance of discovery and association to him less
likely.

Dan enjoyed travelling to new areas of the country and exploring
the countryside. There were some stunning places, and stunning views, like
tonight, with the land soaked in moonlight and the silhouetted tree. On nights
like this he wished he could bottle it and sell it.

This week's photo prompt is of white Tulips taken by Olay Seven, a Turkish photograph from Istanbul. He has taken these from a few angles. You can check out his instagram page here.

Such a light-hearted picture, but I couldn't possibly go that way now, could I? In fact this little story is the background story for one of my side characters in my novel, Sleep, which I hope to publish next year. A few of my beta readers will probably be able to identify who it belongs to.

Ha, white tulips, I should have known, they are her favourite
after all. Burying me in them is no surprise. When the sun opens them right up,
they look rather stunning from this angle.

She managed it then. She did warn me should would one day. It
always made me laugh. I didn’t think she had it in her. Seems I was wrong. I
thought I’d kept her in her place. I did all the things those guys on the forum
said, let her know who was boss, didn’t let her get above her station - but she
blind-sided me with the kids. I hadn’t seen that coming. I thought they knew
their place too. It seems I wasn’t clear enough. I just wasn’t always in the
mood to discipline them. I was tired when I got home from work.

Huh, work. They’ll be wondering where I am now. At least I
won’t have to work with that dipshit Trevor anymore. God I hated him. He was
such a smartarse, and always sticking his nose in where it wasn’t wanted. It
was probably someone like him who gave her ideas about how to do it. She couldn’t
possibly have thought it up on her own. She really wasn’t that clever. I mean
look, she got the kids involved too; some mother, some wife!

But I didn’t think they’d have the guts either. Just goes to
show you can never be too careful. Can’t even trust your own blood. I wasn’t surprised
Roger helping his mum; he’s always been a mummy’s boy. I’ve never been able to
cure him of that, no matter how much I tried. And he’s grown pretty big since
hitting teenage. I struggle to control him sometimes – not that I let him know
that. And I suppose Jerod would follow his big brother into anything. But little
Louise? She was so pretty, so sweet, always giving her dad a little something and
keeping her mouth shut about it. I never imagined she’d turn on me too.

Just goes to show. You can’t trust women, no matter their
age.

What’s that noise? Are those sirens? Someone’s clocked that
I’m not at work and that something’s gone down. Or did someone hear it? I put
up a fight. I didn’t go down easy. The house must be a mess. Broken stuff and
blood - blood’s hard to get rid of. Oh she’ll be in trouble now. I wish I was
there to see her go down.

Wednesday, 14 November 2018

This week's photo prompt is of a red phone box graveyard, in a northern
village called Carlton Miniott, Yorkshire. This photo take by Nicolas
Ritter for the Mercury Press newspaper. He visited the yard back when he
was just starting out as a photographer's assistant in 2012 and now lives in
Berlin. More fascinating pictures in an article The Daily Mail ran.

I hope my story manages to impart what I imagine doing with these phone
boxes. I chose dialogue rather than narration to impart it this time. It would/could
be so cool.

Alfie surveyed the yard. Yep, they were all here. He rubbed
his hands together. This was going to be good.

He went into the mobile office where Gary was just finishing
a call. He looked up. “We got them all?”

“Yep, all of them. There’s no more to be had anywhere.”
Alfie perched on Gary’s desk.

“Excellent. Now the work can begin. When’s Ralph coming up?”

“Tomorrow, he’s bringing his tech crew with him. Two of his
top guys, Matt and Leonard.”

“How long will it take?”

“What for all of them?”

“Well the first one’s going to be the most important as
it’ll be the hub, so I should imagine it will take the longest.”

“Ralph estimated a minimum of two weeks to a maximum of four
for the hub.”

“And we’re sure the government has shut down the entire
system? We don’t want to risk any cock ups like arriving in one of their
terminals.”

Alfie nodded. “They’re definitely all shut down. I’ve got
two separate informants on the inside confirming it, and both worked directly
with them. The entire system was abolished after the Faraday incident. Once
that all unravelled so did the entire department.”

“Good.” Gary got up and went over to the small window that
overlooked the lot. Alfie joined him.

The roofs of the decaying red telephone boxes looked like sentinels
waiting for orders. Alfie could already imagine them all painted up.

He glanced
at Gary who was smiling. “Penny for them?”

“It’s ingenious. We can hide them in plain sight. People’ll
think they are just monuments or pieces of art. We can put them anywhere we
want. We’re going to make a killing.”

“We’re going to have to pace ourselves. We don’t want to
rush it. If we get found out at this stage the entire thing could collapse. But
if this works and we get enough of the elite influentials on board, they won’t
be able to close us down.”

“Got to let the dust settle. People are still worried about
a repeat of what happened to Faraday.”

“And, what are the chances of a repeat?” Gary shot Alfie a
sharp look.

Alfie pursed his lips. “Let’s just say I wouldn’t advise
using them until Ralph and his crew have done their test runs.”

“Test runs?”

“Yeah, the 100 elites. Ralph says if they want it so badly
let them take the risk. He wants to see more than 10 teleports on each terminal
before he’s satisfied. They’ve all signed up to the exemption clause.”

“And you’re sure there’s no risk of come back on us?”

Alfie folded his arms and rocked on his heels. “Iron clad.
Had the lawyers check it every which way.”

“Good.”

“Ralph says he thinks he knows what caused it anyway.”

“They’ve still got the guy in hospital, haven’t they?”

“Yep, high security psychiatric wing. They’re still trying
to work out if his brain will ever function properly again.”

“It wasn’t just his mind though, was it? They were always
worried teleportation would affect the brain, but it screwed up his body too,
didn’t it?”

“Yep, that’s what Beggsey said when he called me from the
scene. Limbs round the wrong way, hair in wrong places. Enough to make you
shudder.”

Gary did shudder. “But Ralph thinks he knows the answer?”

“Yep. He said something about molecule recalibration. He’s
got such a brain on him.”

“And we’re able to tap it!” Gary’s eyes sparkled as he
turned back to his desk. “Which reminds me, we need to get him and his crew
signed up when they arrive. Don’t want them doing this tech with anyone else.”
He shuffled papers around on the desk, putting a particular one on top.

Alfie followed him back to the desk and picked up the contract.
“Yep, got to get all our ducks in a row. An underground teleportation system
disguised in antique telephone boxes. It’s brilliant. This is going to be so
good.”

Wednesday, 7 November 2018

This week's picture prompt was taken by a friend of mine, Michael Sands, when he was in Oxford. This building is called The Radcliffe's Camera and it's part of Oxford University. It houses the Science Library.

This one was a bit tricky with how to get the wording right and not repeat words. And yes, that is the ending. It's up to the reader to figure it out. 😉

He hurried through the destroyed city unsure where he was
going to find sanctuary before sundown, but eager to get across before
nightfall. By the time he reached the university it was raining hard and getting
difficult to see. Broad Street was still intact and he managed to reach the
start of Catte Street without much trouble, but he could see the road ahead was
blocked; they’d taken out Radcliffe Camera.

It was devastating to see the dome in pieces, laying half in
and half out of the shattered library, the buildings around adding to the chaos
of debris. He wondered how he was going to get through. It took some
negotiation. He squeezed through some parts and climbed over others, until he
came out at a clear patch in front of the building where nothing appeared to
have fallen.

The coloured cobble stones of the square contrasting the
grey stone detritus covering everything else. He found it strange; it had a
defined perimeter, creating a circle a couple of metres across. And although
the dust from the broken buildings hadn’t penetrated it, the rain had; a large
puddle had formed across the space.

As Randolf paused, he noticed something else too, in the
reflection, something he struggled to comprehend. To begin with he thought it
was the angle and the trick of the light, but as he circled the water it didn’t
change; the reflection showed Radcliffe Camera, but not as it was now, the
broken carcass of a majestic building, it showed it as it had been: the dome
intact, the pillars holding the roof, the ball on top of the spire. He rubbed
his eyes a few times but it remained the same. Then he dipped a toe.

It wasn’t the lack of a ripple that disturbed him as his
shoe touched the water; it was that when he pulled it out it wasn’t wet. There
was no discolouration of the suede, no damp sensation, no drops back into the puddle.

Randolf squatted down and put his finger to the liquid. He
watched his finger break the surface with no sensation and no reaction. Not
cold, not wet, no motion. Nothing. He put his entire hand in. The same:
nothing. When he pulled it out, he found it as dry as his shoe. He watched
raindrops hit the liquid and just be absorbed without a sound or winkle.

He stood up and dipped his toe in again, shifting it deeper
and deeper until his entire ankle was submerged. He brought his other foot round
and shuffled it in too. He felt nothing. He moved towards the centre of the
puddle and found himself waste deep, but no sloshing sound, no movement.
Nothing.

He could still see the reflection. It hadn’t changed or moved.
He was inside it now. And then he fell – or at least that was how it felt, his
stomach being the only thing to register it. One minute the reflection was
around his waist, the next it was up in the sky and he was standing on the
cobble stones looking up at it. But it wasn’t a reflection, it was the
building.

He turned slowly. All the buildings were intact. There was
no rubble. The sky was blue. There was no rain. Then he heard a sound, voices.
He watched two people with armfuls of books walk past him to the science
library. They were chatting as though all was well. And it was.

Randolf ran back down the street. Everything was unscathed.
He continued to run through the centre of town, observing all the people going
about their day, walking, talking, eating. Shops were open and doing business.
People were living their lives as though there was no threat of war. He saw a
newspaper on top of a bin and snatched it up as he passed. The date was correct
but nothing about the war. But how could it be?

He ran through town to the other side, into suburbia, into
his street, up to his house, to his front door, which an hour ago was buried
under rubble. He stood panting at the door, trying to catch his breath before
he rang the doorbell. Could they still be here, still be alive?

He pressed the button. He heard the familiar chime. He saw a
figure through the frosted glass coming to the door. It opened. He held his
breath, and looked into his own face, and his own eyes.